Noah Baumbach‘s White Noise (Netflix) opens theatrically today, and will hang in there until the streaming begins on 12.30.22.
Hollywood Elsewhere recommends that you wait for the couch experience. A theatrical viewing will most likely piss you off, given the expense and the vague feeling of obligation (i.e., imprisonment) that comes with sitting in a theatre.
I was more or less in agony during an opening-night screening at the New York Film Festival (9.30), or eight weeks ago. The following day I wrote that the only part I really liked was the closing musical dance sequence, set inside an early ’80s A & P supermarket.
That aside I was in hell. If I had more courage and conviction (which I unfortunately don’t) I would’ve bailed at the half-hour mark. I can smell a stinker less than five minutes in, and White Noise definitely had the fumes.
The guy sitting next to me felt the same way. Somewhere around the 50-minute mark he turned and crouched to his left and laid his head upon (what I assumed was) his boyfriend’s right shoulder. I chuckled under my breath — my first thought was “Jesus, this guy has no fear — he’s not worried if people sitting nearby will think him louche and undisciplined — he’s just going for it.”